


Felled by you

by StrikerStiles



Category: Original Work
Genre: Ancient Greece, F/M, Nymphs & Dryads
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 09:29:36
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,576
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16037684
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StrikerStiles/pseuds/StrikerStiles
Summary: Once there was a dryad. She was born as a blackthorn tree, a sapling at first, then grew into something fierce, something with flowers as pink as Aphrodite's lips and thorns as sharp as Artemis' arrows. She never knew anything but the forest that gave birth to her, just like it did to all her sisters, and she never wondered what lied outside of its borders. It was soothing and terrifying, homely and foreign, merciful and wrathful. It was all. It was enough.





	Felled by you

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Selemetis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Selemetis/gifts).



> If I was born as a blackthorn tree  
> I'd wanna be felled by you  
> Held by you  
> Fuel the pyre of your enemies 
> 
> -NFWMB by Hozier

Once there was a dryad. She was born as a blackthorn tree, a sapling at first, then grew into something fierce, something with flowers as pink as Aphrodite's lips and thorns as sharp as Artemis' arrows. She never knew anything but the forest that gave birth to her, just like it did to all her sisters, and she never wondered what lied outside of its borders. It was soothing and terrifying, homely and foreign, merciful and wrathful. It was all. It was enough.

She thought it was, until that moment when she met a being that did not belong to it. That was when the forest ceased to be enough. Ceased to be all. There was something outside of it, and it was frightening in a way the forest could never be, foreign in a way it could never dream of, wrathful in a fashion the trees would never dare to be. Yet beauty lied that way as well, and wonder and enchantment, and as she thought to herself quietly, insanity.

She wanted it all the same. 

That creature was a boy, a guardian just like her, trapped on that soil just like her. He never knew any world other than the forest and his palace, just like the girl. And when he looked at his reflection in still water, there was something in his eyes that was foreing to him, something he could not name, yet he knew in his heart of hearts, that it would be his undoing. 

It was a classic recipe for a tragedy, people would say. He was a warrior with a throne waiting for him; a crown hovering above his head, his time running low, his days numbered. She was a nymph with the secrets of the entire universe at her fingertips; endless daylight and companionship and never ceasing wonder were her dowry. Yet they were not what you would expect them to be. She was the real fighter between the two. He was the one who needed protection, who needed saving. 

There was also a war.

This was not very surprising for the boy yet bewildering for the girl. Trees never faught. They would simply push each other out of the way when their roots touched each other and after all, there were plenty of space for everyone in that forest. She didn't understand why humans couldn't just do the same. Why they seemingly never could manage to comfortably settle into their part of the world. Why they could never be satistifed with all of that space and air and soil and water they had. The boy tried to explain once, twice, thrice. It never took. He gave up. She told him to. They didn't need to waste their precious, limited time with such mysteries. She could figure them all out later, after he-ceased to be. They had more urgent matters to discuss, like that fascinating and bizarre way humans fit their lips together for no reason at all, or the feeling of dandelion seeds on her skin. She had never felt the need to spend time out of her bark up until the moment she saw him, when she wanted to know what it felt like, to exist that way. Now it seemed like a wasted opportunity. There was so much on this earth that her almost eternal bark wasn't sensitive enough to feel, yet her human skin was very, devastatingly receptive to. 

Their time was more limited than she knew.

The enemy was fast and relentless and dedicated. They seemed unstoppable when they set camp right outside of her forest. Now her home was the only thing stood between his and the enemy. Her sisters were watching with worried eyes, whispering amongst themselves about the terrifying possibility of a forest fire, or their trees being cut. Her terror was deeper than that, deeper than death and its great unknown. She had never lost anything in her entire life, and now all seemed lost.

So she returned to her bark, her beautiful, vicious bark, and searched deeper into the earth, looking for answers. And she found one. It was not what she hoped it would be, but it was all there was. It was enough.

So she summoned him to her, at dawn, dew still glistening on ferns and his shivering form wrapped in all that metal. It seemed to her that the entire world was shivering with him, for the love of him.

It seemed fitting. 

“There is a way to save this forest,” she whispered to him, because her sisters were all light sleepers and she couldn't afford to wake them into this nightmare. The burden was to be theirs and theirs alone, and she coveted their shared pain just as she coveted their shared pleasure, their shared love. “A way to save my sisters, and your home and your people. And you.”

“Tell me then,” he said, still shivering. His chest plate was too hard against her skin when she put her hand to it but his gaze was as soft as spring grass. “Tell me.”

“It will hurt,” she warned him.

“So let it hurt,” he answered. “Anything.”

“You need an ax.”

His expression changed, then.

“I don't understand.” His voice was a mere whisper now. “Why do you- who?”

“Me.”

“No.”

“You said anything.”

“Anything but this.”

“That is not a possibility.” She took her hand away from his chest and put it on his face, still marveling at the give of it after all this time. “This is the only way.”

“We'll find another-”

“This is the only way.”

“This is too much.”

“This is the only way.”

“I would rather die.”

“They will cut down some trees eventually,” she said, urging him to understand. “Inevitably. They will need fires and fences and arrows. Their shields will need repairing.Don't make me watch everything die. I can't bear it.”

“Yet you wish to have me watch you die. And bear it.”

“You once told me you would deny me nothing,” she reminded him. “This is my only wish. I want to be felled by you. Held by you. To fuel the pyre of your enemies. To seal our promises with blood.”

His head hanged low. 

“The stories were true, it appears,” he whispered and he sounded older, ancient. As if he was already in pain. “The fae are cruel and heartless and wicked.”

She tried to smile. “Yes, that is indeed true. And my tree is cursed. You better cut it down before it tears this land apart.”

He tried to smile back. She could see his effort clear as day but it was a smile that wasn't meant to be. When he took a step towards his palace his armor clattered and his boots beat the earth with a slow but unceasing rhytm and between all these noises she never once noticed that he was watering the almost frozen earth with tears.

And when he came back, the coldness of the ax almost skinning his palms, she never once opened her eyes. Her sisters were making so much noise; at first anxious whispers, then pleadings and after that, finally, heart shattering wails. His lips ever moving, saying things she could not grasp or comprehend or hold on to. It was a strange thing to die. At first there was an abundance of feelings, so much that it was smothering, it was burning and torturing and then-

And then, nothing. 

 

****

It was not customary to bury fallen enemies. Nor was it customary to honor them with any kind of ceramony. But the soldiers did not utter a word as their prince built the pyres on his own-he lashed out to any offers of help- painstakingly placing each and every small piece of wood, being so gentle, too gentle. None of it made any sense to the soldiers but they allowed it since he was their prince and he was to be their king. And kings were allowed their quirks and their weird fancies. Let it be wandering around in the forest for days or building pyres for the enemy.

He burned them all, again on his own, one by one. And he wept like a little babe who was taken away from the arms of his nurse. And still, none of them uttered a single word nor made a single move. Princes were allowed their hearts and their weird sorrows. It was alright as long as they were left behind once one was sitting on the throne. Thrones were not built to carry things as heavy as hearts.

***

The girl had no name, as trees did not name their saplings. He was given a name, once, which he did not wish to bear. A name that was made out of gilded iron. Far too heavy for a baby, too heavy for a boy, too heavy for a man, and definitely too heavy for what he, like all of his kind, was destined to be reduced to, one day.

So he burried what was left of her under his name: a leaf that was dry as his heart and a thorn as sharp as his sword. 

It seemed fitting.

After he was done, that day, he wandered deep into the forest and sat down on the spot which she once occupied. The forest was cold.

It was also soothing and terrifying, homely and foreign, merciful and wrathful. It was all. It was enough.


End file.
